d made it burn all the more
fiercely. Five hundred years ago they had first sworn their oath; and
kings had come and gone, had died or been murdered, and dynasties had
changed, but the Forgers of the Sword had not changed or forgotten
their oath or wavered in their belief that some time--some time, even
after the long dark years--the soul of their Lost Prince would be among
them once more, and that they would kneel at the feet and kiss the
hands of him for whose body that soul had been reborn. And for the
last hundred years their number and power and their hiding places had
so increased that Samavia was at last honeycombed with them. And they
only waited, breathless,--for the Lighting of the Lamp.

The old priest knew how breathlessly, and he knew what he was bringing
them. Marco and The Rat, in spite of their fond boy-imaginings, were
not quite old enough to know how fierce and full of flaming eagerness
the breathless waiting of savage full-grown men could be. But there
was a tense-strung thrill in knowing that they who were being led to
them were the Bearers of the Sign. The Rat went hot and cold; he
gnawed his fingers as he went. He could almost have shrieked aloud, in
the intensity of his excitement, when the old priest stopped before a
big black door!

Marco made no sound. Excitement or danger always made him look tall
and quite pale. He looked both now.

The priest touched the door, and it opened.

They were looking into an immense cavern. Its walls and roof were
lined with arms--guns, swords, bayonets, javelins, daggers, pistols,
every weapon a desperate man might use. The place was full of men, who
turned towards the door when it opened. They all made obeisance to the
priest, but Marco realized almost at the same instant that they started
on seeing that he was not alone.

They were a strange and picturesque crowd as they stood under their
canopy of weapons in the lurid torchlight. Marco saw at once that they
were men of all classes, though all were alike roughly dressed. They
were huge mountaineers, and plainsmen young and mature in years. Some
of the biggest were men with white hair but with bodies of giants, and
with determination in their strong jaws. There were many of these,
Marco saw, and in each man's eyes, whether he were young or old, glowed
a steady unconquered flame. They had been beaten so often, they had
been oppressed and robbed, but in the eyes of each one was this
unconque